


New Words for Old Desires

by Holly (spaciousbear)



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2020-12-31 20:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaciousbear/pseuds/Holly
Summary: When Eiji returns to New York, everything seems foreign to him again. The language he spoke, the city he began to consider home. Even Sing.As time passes, he finds that learning the second time around is even more of a challenge.(Snapshots of Sing and Eiji through the years.)





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a continuation of the language/communication theme I explored in my first fic [Lost in Translation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574861). I wanted to take the idea and apply it to the GoL era, to see how similar struggles might affect Eiji's grief and eventual healing - as well as how it would guide the shift in his relationship with Sing. 
> 
> The first few sections of this lean a bit angstier for obvious reasons, but I promise things do eventually get better for them.

The Tokyo airport was filled to the brim with people, swarming around him like insects. 

Eiji could overhear the conversations going on around him with almost no effort, despite how tired he was from the many hours of traveling. It took him several minutes to realize that it was the first time he had been surrounded by Japanese speakers in over a year. It was disorienting, but in a strange way, a little like coming up for air after holding his breath for a long time.

He'd almost forgotten what it meant to understand the world passively and without constant effort; it was dizzying and a little exhilarating. He was looking forward to seeing what it might be like, when he had his bearings again and he could be useful, finally. Once Ash decided to join him and Eiji could navigate their future with confidence. 

It was stranger still to hear his little sister exclaim nii-chan, without the sharp sarcasm or American accent he’d come to associate it with. Hours later, after the reunions, a lot of explanations and tentative apologies, a few painful reminders of American customs he’d unwittingly picked up along the way, Eiji was grateful to stagger into his bedroom to find it mostly undisturbed. He was too exhausted to even find it disorienting to be there again, too eager to lay his head down to rest. 

As he slept, the sound of his phone ringing mixed together with the strange sounds and images of his dreams. When he opened his eyes and saw the light of the screen indicating an incoming call, he initially turned away, convinced he was still dreaming. 

After a brief respite of silence, the phone began to ring again. Eiji turned back over, reached over and fumbled with it before answering. 

“Eiji, are you there?”

A familiar voice, but it sounded muddled amidst the grogginess and jet lag. English. He tried to recalibrate his thinking to accommodate it. 

"What?" he managed to mumble, hoping to buy himself another moment. 

"Shit, did I wake you up? I forgot about the time difference, it's just… this is important."

"Sing?" He recognized the voice now, though his mind was still working out the rest of the words. 

"It's about Ash." 

Eiji couldn't remember exactly what he said next, but it didn't matter. He didn't need to hear the rest of the words that followed. He'd heard _Ash _and the somber tone in Sing's voice and a part of him already understood. 

When Eiji returned to New York, everything was more difficult, and English was no exception. He hadn’t been in Japan for long; a few weeks before he was cleared to return, legally and medically, and his English hadn’t even had time to rest, let alone get rusty. But when he returned, it all sounded wrong, the tone and the sounds and the speed of the language flew past him in rapid fire. 

Everything moved so fast, but he was stuck in place. 

For a few weeks, he hardly said anything at all. 

People spoke to him. Alex, Bones, and the rest tried to offer meager condolences but they spoke too fast, their accents seemed strange, and their words were all wrong. What they said didn’t make any sense. 

What they were saying couldn’t possibly match with reality, and Eiji couldn’t allow himself to acknowledge it, so he said nothing. 

Sing kept him company, even after the others had left. 

Once a day, maybe, he’d pop in and say hello, ask Eiji how he was doing. He’d chatter a little to fill the silence between them, but all Eiji heard was noise. Sometimes he’d pretend to be asleep so that Sing didn’t have to politely fill that space, so that he’d leave sooner. 

But once he was gone, the silence was an even crueler companion. 

One morning - maybe afternoon, it was difficult to tell any longer - Sing stopped in, the same as usual. He unpacked a few things, mostly food, for Eiji as he always did. He sat down beside where Eiji had curled up for the past few hours and looked at him uncertainly. 

“I brought food,” Sing said. “Please eat something.” Eiji looked at him, then, the clarity of what he was saying coming through despite the clumsy wording and strange tone of his voice. It sounded exactly like Sing normally spoke, and it took a moment for him to realize what was so disorienting about it. 

Sing had been speaking Japanese. 

“Sorry, that’s mostly all I know right now,” Sing continued, a tone of apology coloring his switch back to English. But now, Eiji could hear it, like the barrier between himself and English had finally broken down enough to hear it clearly once more. 

Sing leaned back in his seat, let out a long sigh, but didn’t look away. 

“I wish you’d talk to me, Eiji. Say whatever you want, say it in Japanese, even - I won’t understand you, so you don’t have to feel self-conscious or anything. Just let me know you’re still there.”

But the words wouldn’t come. They were caught in his throat and they were choking him with every breath, but somehow he couldn’t release a single one of them. Speaking it would make it real, and for now, he could just drift along in this terrible nightmare he knew he would eventually have to wake up from. 

After a few minutes of silence, Sing shifted in his seat, went to stand up again. They’d been through this a few times before, but this time Eiji couldn’t bear to see the strained look in Sing’s eyes as he said goodbye and left Eiji alone once more. Before it could happen, Eiji could hear himself speaking. 

“I don’t understand,” he said. Sing froze, hesitated before he responded. 

“Understand what?” Sing asked. 

“Anything,” Eiji replied, his voice a hoarse whisper, weak from lack of use. 

“About Ash,” Sing began, but before he could make it any further than those words, Eiji stood and turned away. 

He shut himself into the bedroom, and it was only several minutes later that he could hear Sing speaking once more, before he heard the sound of the door closing again. Alone again in what was once his sanctuary. 

When he could finally muster the energy to move, he clambered his way into the bathroom, turned the shower on and let the water run. He stepped into the initially freezing spray and felt nothing. 

Eiji couldn’t understand. Sing seemed so sincere, and he was so exhausted by silence, but he just couldn’t tell him. Standing there, alone under the stream of water, he sobbed and Japanese words tumbled out of him, ones that expressed things he didn’t have the vocabulary to articulate in English. 

Maybe it served as a barrier, something that kept him from feeling it too closely. In Japanese, the words were closer to his heart, but further from his memories. It didn’t matter if Sing couldn’t understand the words, because if Eiji let him hear them, he’d understand enough. 

There were some things that were his and his alone.


	2. Echo (3 Years After)

The apartment was full of sound - a song from the local pop station was blaring, loud, from an old radio they kept on hand. It was filled with scent, too: the enrapturing smell of tempura sizzling in its pan wafted through the kitchen and out into the rest of their shared space. 

These things were familiar, comforting, and like anyone, Sing associated them with a blissful and calm domesticity. 

It also meant Eiji was having a particularly hard day. 

Eiji never said so, not outright, but Sing had learned how to read the signs. He cooked at length when he was lonely or stressed, when it was bad enough that he needed to do something else with his hands to keep himself busy. The more labor-intensive the dish he prepared, the worse off he was. 

The radio was another distraction, he assumed. Noise to cancel out worse, even more tempestuous noise. Sing stood in the doorway and took the scene in for a moment, this picturesque facade of calm that covered up a web of splintering cracks. 

Sing didn’t ask him if he was okay, or what had happened to set off this particular bad spell. Instead, he sidled up to where Eiji was cutting some vegetables and glanced over at him with as much casual grace as he could manage. 

“Can I help?”

Not answering directly, Eiji paused and stepped aside from where he had been working and passed the knife over to Sing with a nod. 

“If you don’t mind. Thank you.”

Eiji said a lot of things without saying them and Sing did his best to listen. 

Sing set to work on cutting the vegetables, doing his best to mirror the work Eiji had already done. As he continued, he glanced over to where Eiji was now prepping the rice cooker, his back to Sing and his posture a bit withdrawn; another tell. 

Sometimes Sing wondered if it was a side effect of living in a country where the language wasn’t native to him, if he’d gotten used to conveying meaning in other ways. Other times he imagined that Eiji had always been this way, inelegant with words but subtly imbuing layers of meaning into everything else he did. Often, he thought that Eiji had no idea how much he was communicating through his own gestures. 

Eiji didn't say that some days he wished he could join Ash, wherever he might be. But he did play dangerously with those darker recesses of his mind, if you paid attention closely enough. Sing had learned how to pay attention. 

And while Sing was looking away, his attention focused on reading Eiji’s movements, he lost track of his own; his hand slipped, just enough, to slice a small sliver into the palm of his hand. 

He hissed, a strained mixture of pain and surprise, and it caught Eiji’s attention immediately. He turned to look at Sing, who had already curled his hand into a ball and was holding it tightly to his chest. 

“All those years using a knife, and a bell pepper gets the best of me,” Sing teased with a smile, though he did not expect to see it returned. 

“Let me see,” Eiji demanded, and he was at Sing’s side then, gently pulling his arm away from his body. Sing obediently opened up his hand for Eiji to examine it, and Eiji’s face settled into a frown. 

“You’re bleeding,” he said. “Stay here, I will bandage it.”

Before Sing could formulate a response, Eiji had slipped away, quickly, and returned with a damp washcloth, a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, and some bandages. His face was set, serious, as though it was a much graver injury than it actually was; it was likely just another bit of busywork to keep his mind moving. 

“It’s really not that bad, I can-” Sing began, but Eiji cut him off before he could finish. 

“I need to clean it. You have blood on your hand,” Eiji said. 

Sing swallowed, because Eiji was of course talking about the blood that was bubbling out of the cut on his hand. But he said it in exactly that way, and Sing’s mind silently translated his tone, his eyes, the tight grip Eiji had on his hand. 

Methodical in his movements, Eiji wiped away the bit of excess blood that was pooling against his skin, swabbed at it with the peroxide, like he’d fallen back into a comfortable, familiar routine. Sing had shaken off injuries far more grievous than this, but something about Eiji tending to this one made the sharp ache that much more pointed. Both were silent as he worked. 

It stung, a little, and when Eiji pressed the damp rag against his palm, he pressed just a little bit harder, an almost nonexistent quirk of his eyes as Sing winced at the contact. 

Eiji would never say he resented Sing for all of the years of grief and mourning, that his presence made things worse as much as it kept him going. 

He would never say anything like that, but he might press his fingers down against the grains of fabric in the bandage he was applying until Sing let out a small gasp of pain. The way his fingers found the exact spot that hurt and lingered there, the way Eiji’s eyes surveyed his reaction.

He didn’t say _ everything would be so much better if he was here right now instead of you. _

He didn’t say _the blood will always be on your hands, no matter how much you try to help. _

He didn’t say any of those things, but Sing heard them anyway. 

“Sorry,” Eiji mumbled, a delayed response to the pain Sing displayed. “Clumsy Japanese.”

And when he said that, there was a ghost of a joyless smile lingering on the corner of his lips, as though it was part of a remembered joke that Sing wasn’t included in. 

Sometimes it worked the other way too - Eiji would say exactly what he meant, things that had meaning that couldn’t be conveyed through the words alone, the tone or his expression. Things Eiji rarely ever explained and Sing never asked about. 

Instead, Eiji did exactly as he said; he wrapped a bit of gauze around the open cut, and he taped it down. The moment seemed to have passed. 

And after the pain began to subside, after the bandage had been wrapped neatly around Sing’s wounded hand, Eiji’s hand lingered against his. Gentle now, a small thumb stroke of comfort that whispered something different, something quiet that Sing couldn’t quite get a read on. 

“Thanks,” Sing said, his voice thick and heavy, laden with whatever was being laid out with Eiji’s unusual gesture. 

"Please be careful," Eiji replied, and Sing wasn't quite sure who he was speaking to any longer: to Sing, to himself, or if his words were merely an echo. 

Eiji’s eyes were clouded and not quite there, seemingly lost somewhere between the present moment and the recesses of memory.


	3. Secret (5 Years After)

Sing had gotten used to living life in different modes, words creating schisms that could shift at any moment. English was their default. No longer by necessity; Sing had gotten the hang of Japanese well enough, but there was a formality in their adherence to English. Habit was difficult to break, after all. 

It may very well have been Buddy’s fault. He had been trained to respond only to English commands and would wag his tail, blissfully unbothered, in response to any of their attempts to expand his vocabulary. 

Japanese was loose and flowed freely between thoughts and quiet questions, a “welcome home” or thanks given before a meal. It often meant that Eiji was relaxed or excited, his thoughts moving faster than his words, and Sing could only do his best to keep up. 

Their lives were, at times, a kaleidoscope of sound. It might have sounded chaotic to anyone from the outside, but only to those who didn’t know it as intimately as they did. Every sound, every word that threaded itself into their daily routine had its purpose. 

Despite all of that, when Sing opened the front door and heard the familiar sound of Cantonese making its way through the walls of the apartment, it was a little bit jarring. 

Cantonese was like a switch being flipped; he was a different person, a person he kept away from Eiji. The things his ties to Chinatown entailed held nothing good for himi. It was best to keep such things separate.

Unable to abate his curiosity, Sing followed the sound. When he stepped into the living room, Eiji was curled up onto the couch, the light of the TV a pale glow against his skin. It was an old foreign film playing across the screen and Eiji was splitting his attention between what was on the screen and Buddy, who had climbed into his lap for attention. 

Sing walked over, quietly so as not to startle them, and Buddy’s wagging tail drew Eiji’s eyes over to where he stood. He shifted over a bit to make space, and Sing lingered before settling down next to him. 

“You two looked so cozy,” Sing laughed, then nodded towards the TV. “Movie night?”

“Yes, though I think I have lost track of the story,” Eiji noted with a sigh. “The English subtitles move too quickly. I have never been able to read very fast in English.”

“I remember this movie. Used to play on TV a lot when I was a kid, so I’d stay up late and watch movies, me and Shorter and-” Sing cut himself off before the sound could even reach his lips, and if Eiji noticed he didn’t let on. “Anyway, I’ve seen this one. I can narrate.” Sing finished off with a teasing grin. 

Eiji looked over at him with a serious and doubtful expression that wasn’t quite concealing his amusement. 

“Somehow that’s even more embarrassing than pretending I know what’s happening.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be helpful,” Sing offered with a shrug, turning his attention back to the movie. 

He could sense Eiji’s eyes still on him, considering him quietly for a moment. 

“Hmm. If you are feeling helpful, maybe you can teach me a little.” Eiji’s voice perked up a little bit when he said that and Sing cast a puzzled look in his direction. 

“What, you mean Cantonese?”

“I thought it would be good… to learn a little bit, if you do not mind helping me.”

Eiji had turned his attention to Sing now, fully, and Sing felt a surge of heat flush his cheeks red. Suddenly he was grateful for the dim light of the room. 

“I’m not sure you’ll find it particularly useful, Eiji. There’s almost nothing you’d need it for other than watching old movies like this.”

“You use it,” Eiji said and his tone was completely neutral, difficult to assess. 

When Sing spoke Cantonese, it was generally outside of the apartment. It didn’t have a place there, between the two of them. It was saved for hushed tones carried over phone calls. It always was when necessary. When he didn’t want Eiji to know what he was saying or who he was saying it to. 

Eiji must have known, of course. There were only so many options. 

“I think I would just like to understand more,” he continued. “When we are in Chinatown, I feel very out of place, like when I first came to America and my English was not very good. You speak Japanese so well now, Sing. There are no more secrets I can keep from you.”

Eiji finished that thought with a light laugh that indicated, perhaps, that it was meant to be light-hearted, but the thick silence that followed hung over them. 

“Okay, um. I’m not much of a teacher. What do you want to know?”

“Ah, start simple if you do not mind.”

Sing could hear the drone of the TV behind him, and he repeated one of the lines in time with the actor. 

“Simpler,” Eiji said through a laugh. “I don’t know anything yet.”

Sing laughed, and leaned back in his chair; Eiji’s eyes followed him with curiosity. 

_ “Hello.” _

Eiji repeated what he heard. His accent was imperfect, but it wasn’t bad for a first try. He’d of course heard Sing speak Cantonese at several points over the years and perhaps was paying more attention than he had let on. 

“Okay, that was good. Want to try another?”

Eiji nodded and his eyes met Sing’s, eager and earnest. 

“What else do you want to know?”

“Hmmm. I’m sorry?”

Sing paused, the words stuck at the tip of his tongue, because of course Eiji had chosen that. In the background, the movie played on, a confession from one character to another, and before he could stop himself, he spoke. 

_ “I’m sorry, for everything. For feeling this way, when I know it’s not what you need.” _

His eyes were cast down as he spoke, and once he looked up again, Eiji was staring at him, mouth open as though he was considering his response and was interrupted. 

“I don’t think I got that,” he said, his voice quiet. “Can you… say it slower this time?”

Sing let out a breathy laugh. Of course, he’d been overwhelmed by the cascade of Cantonese Sing had sprung on him. Eiji couldn’t have understood what he said, and so Sing shook his head with a quiet reluctance. 

“Never mind. I don’t think you’re quite ready for that yet.”


	4. Laugh (7 Years After)

Getting stopped on the street had become so normal for Eiji he’d begun to see it as part of his daily routine. Usually it was for a stranger to ask him for directions, or a question about a nearby attraction, occasionally approaching to see if he could spare some change, to which he always obliged. Sing often warned him through a wry smile that he had much too kind of a face, that people would take advantage if he wasn’t careful enough. 

To Eiji, it signalled that he looked like he belonged here, in New York, that he was natural among the native city dwellers and didn’t stand out the way he’d often feared. 

It was late afternoon and the subway back home was relatively sparse, quiet. Even as he followed Sing out onto the platform, talking quietly as they moved, it felt peaceful. He almost didn’t notice the woman approaching him at first. 

“Do you know which train goes to the rooftop gardens?” The woman was older, with a deeply lined face that looked happy - relieved, even - to see Eiji there. More than likely a tourist that had gotten mixed up and inadvertently traveled in the wrong direction. But what first caught Eiji’s attention was that she had spoken to him in Japanese. 

“I… of course, let me think,” he sputtered out, a little flustered. “How did you know I understood Japanese?” 

“I overheard you speaking with your friend.” At this, she nodded to Sing, who had been quietly listening up to that point but looked over in acknowledgment at being mentioned. Of course. Sing had been insistent on speaking Japanese lately, intent to practice his grammar. It had begun to feel natural enough that Eiji himself sometimes didn’t notice when they slipped in and out of it. 

Eiji took a moment to consider her question before letting out an apologetic sigh. 

“I’m not sure, actually, I don’t usually go to that part of the city,” Eiji began to explain, and immediately he could sense Sing perk up a little, giving Eiji a small smile. 

“That’s near campus, I’ve been there,” he said, in Japanese, then softened his voice to speak to Eiji in English. “I can try and explain it. I’ve been practicing a lot - I think I should be okay?” Eiji recognized an uncertain eagerness in Sing’s expression as he glanced over at Eiji with a seemingly careless smile. The slight uptick in his voice at the end of that thought betrayed him but Eiji didn’t point it out. 

“Okay. You’ve gotten very good. You’ll be fine.”

Sing turned to the woman, visibly a bit puffed up with pride in his ability to assist. Eiji stepped back and watched as Sing explained the directions to her. 

If Sing felt out of his element, he did a good job of covering it up. 

Sing rarely seemed out of his element; he exuded a kind of calm confidence that always felt like he was in complete control of any given situation. It was what made him such a natural leader, and Eiji was usually happy to watch from the sideline. 

He’d almost gotten it, completely perfect. Sing’s Japanese really was improving. 

But here, Sing clearly was out of his element, disoriented by the swath of unfamiliar words he surely couldn’t keep track of. Eiji could recognize the overwhelming sensation of it all playing along his features. Eiji’s own first few months in the US had been much the same way. 

It was an easy enough mistake to make. The two words sounded awfully similar, and surely the woman knew what Sing _ meant _, but still… 

“Thank you,” the woman said once Sing had finished speaking, polite if a little puzzled. 

They parted ways, the woman looking a little stricken but grateful for the help. He and Sing watched to ensure she made it onto her train before moving onward, up the stairs that led them out of the subway station. 

Once they were back outside in the brisk air, he tried to hold it together - and he did, for as long as his body allowed. But there was a pressure bubbling up in his chest like a volcano wanting to erupt, and once his resolve finally crumbled, so did he. A small fit of giggles swept over him. 

“What are you laughing about?” Sing asked, eyebrow quirked a little. 

Eiji quickly shook his head and placed a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. 

“Nothing, it is nothing.”

“It’s obviously _ something _.”

“It was a small mistake,” Eiji explained. “She understood what you meant to say. Those two words sound very similar.”

Sing’s face turned a shade of red almost immediately and Eiji realized he probably didn’t need to explain any further. 

“And you didn’t stop me from speaking right then?”

“You were very insistent back there. You said, ‘Eiji, let me do the talking, I have practiced a lot to improve my Japanese.’”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to completely abandon me when I was failing so badly.”

“Hmm," Eiji murmured. "Mistakes help you learn. Now you will never forget.”

Sing turned away with a somewhat sour expression and Eiji covered another laugh up with an unconvincing cough. A muffled but apparent sound of annoyance was the response. 

“I’m glad you’re getting so much enjoyment out of my humiliation, Eiji.”

“Do you have any idea how many foolish things I have said in English without knowing? Or how I struggled to find the right words and failed. Now maybe you understand me a little better.”

Sing let out a sigh, but his irritation seemed to be superficial; there was a quiet amusement hiding behind his eyes. 

“Fair enough. It’ll definitely help me remember it for next time.”

It was quiet for a moment as they turned down the block that brought them back to the apartment. As Sing turned the key into the lock and put his hand on the door to open it, he turned to face Eiji once more. 

“You know, Eiji… I haven’t heard you laugh like that in…” Sing stopped there for a moment, then a sad smile began to appear. “I guess _ever_, now that I think about it.”

Eiji’s smile faded, suddenly a little self-conscious about the statement. 

“Ah, sorry. I really shouldn’t be making fun of you so much. It was a simple mistake.”

“No, it’s nice to see. To hear. Guess I’ll have to keep making a fool of myself, since that seems to cheer you up,” Sing’s expression was gentle and fond and a heat rose in Eiji’s face when he said it, but by then Sing had turned and pushed the door open to allow both of them entrance.

It was enough time for Eiji to regain composure, and to offer a willfully unbothered shrug, for a devious note of teasing to enter his voice. 

“I am sure you will manage to find a way.”

This time, Sing was the one to burst into laughter, a spark of amusement lingering in his eyes. 

“You know, I take back every nice thing I ever said about you being too kind.”


End file.
